


Let's make it personal.

by Talraven



Series: Re-Rolling the DC Dice: The White Mask [4]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Abduction, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Conditioning, Daddy Kink, Drama, Hate Speech, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mutual Pining, Rape/Non-con Elements, Torture, White Mask AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-09-24 15:08:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20360563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talraven/pseuds/Talraven
Summary: Jason's having a really bad day. White Mask - aka, Angel - makes it a lot more complicated.





	1. Chapter 1

Today’s a really bad day.

A really, _ really _ bad. Fucking. Day.

First he’d woken up late for a stupid board meeting that _ Bruce _ was supposed to attend and which _ Tim _ couldn’t because of a Titans-related injury. 

_ Then _ he’d gotten caught up in traffic because the dumbfuck Anarky had apparently blown up four intersections throughout the city, one of which was the one he’d had to drive through to get to Wayne Enterprises. 

And _ then _ when he’d finally parked the car and was scrambling to get his tie in order - _ two hours _ late - and clumsily tripping out of the elevator, he was met by a confused Lucius Fox who had helpfully told him that the meeting had been cancelled.

When Jason had asked why no one had bothered to tell him that, Lucius had said he _ had. _ He’d told _ Bruce. _

Jason had gone back to the manor, _ fuming, _but not before changing into his Red Hood suit and tracking down Anarky to beat the kid bloody before dropping his ass off at GCPD and snarling at Gordon to make sure the kid’s sentencing takes longer this time.

Of course, that had been the only satisfaction Jason had gotten today.

When he’d reached home, Bruce had called from wherever the fuck he was in time and space with the League and had subsequently spent an hour lecturing Jason about being ‘too violent’. _ Him. _ Like as if Bruce doesn’t break bones on a daily fucking basis, the goddamn hypocrite.

All Jason had done was break Anarky’s nose. And maybe sprained his ankle. And busted a lip. 

_ Whatever, _ it hadn’t been anything that had needed a hospital anyway.

Jason had promptly reminded Bruce that he wouldn’t have been half as violent with Anarky if Bruce had fucking checked his voicemail so he would’ve known that the meeting today had been cancelled, so Jason wouldn’t have had to waste his time driving halfway across the city for fucking _ nothing. _

It would’ve turned into a huge argument if Alfred hadn’t interrupted them then, alerting Jason that the Batsignal had been turned on.

Apparently Black Mask was being a busy bee too; his men had been spotted moving suspicious crates down at the docks and they’d taken two officers hostage.

Jason would’ve been glad for the excuse to punch more faces, but _ then, _ of course, because the whole day had been a huge pain in his fucking ass _ anyway, _ his carefully executed plan to quietly infiltrate the warehouse had gotten shot to fucking hell too.

Thanks to a weak beam in the rafters.

Yeah, Jason had dropped from the ceiling, utterly unprepared, down onto his ass on the dirt-covered ground, surrounded by at least twenty armed False Facers.

_ Fucked _ couldn’t have covered his situation any more aptly.

Luckily, Sionis’s guys had never been the brightest crayons in the box, so Jason had had a window of five seconds before any of them had reacted to his presence.

Five seconds, and Jason had just about managed to grab the two hostages tied up together nearby, toss them up onto a crane hook in the ceiling and then cut the line, resulting in the hostages getting thrown up through the roof where they - thankfully - had stayed there.

And then Sionis’s guys had started shooting.

Which is how Jason finds himself getting cornered behind a steel container now, nowhere to run while bullets are flying literally everywhere.

He’s waiting for them to run out of ammo, or at least take a fucking second to breathe or something, but there seems to be no end to the hail of bullets raining down on him. Jason’s close to calling Alfred to ask him to get Babs for help, but that’s when the False Facers finally stop shooting.

In the sudden, ensuing silence, a distorted, mechanical voice rings out through a modulator not unlike Jason’s own. 

“You came alone, Hood? Pretty cocky, even for you.”

Jason knows that voice. He switches on the spectral scanner on his helmet and recognizes the vague shape of Roman’s right-hand, standing among the several guys still pointing their guns in Jason’s direction; the shorter, lithe form of Angel.

“What can I say, I just can’t resist a challenge,” Jason replies, reaching down at his belt for a smoke pellet. “Today’s been pretty shitty, Ange. You couldn’t cut a guy some slack and just turn yourself in, could you?”

Angel chuckles darkly, the sound made more foreboding by his modulator. “And make it easy for you? I’d _ never._"

“I didn’t think so. Heads up!”

Jason tosses two smoke pellets into the air, diving out from the container to the other side of the room. While the other False Facers are distracted by the pellets and have started panicking, Jason knows Angel’s watching him.

“He’s over there!” Jason hears him shout. “Remember boys, we need him alive, not unharmed!”

Jason curses quietly to himself when they shoot at him again, but there’s more room for cover in this side of the warehouse. Unfortunately, there aren’t any floor grates like he’d hoped, so Jason crawls low on the ground instead.

He just needs to get close enough to Angel to knock him out; he knows from experience that the False Facers are stupidly protective of their mini-boss, and Jason’s used this to his advantage before. If he can get Angel, he knows the rest will turn themselves in.

They would all rather face jail time than Black Mask’s fury for allowing his son to get apprehended.

Jason’s halfway over to where he’d last seen Angel standing when the smoke starts dissipating. The False Facers have stopped shooting, but they’re aggressively checking the room now, and Jason tries to hurry as much as he can.

“He’s not over here!”

“Not here either!”

“I don’t see him, the fuck did he go?”

“Fucker moves too fast!”

_ Damn right I do, _ Jason thinks smugly as he rolls over and under a pallet of boxes next to him. 

Angel should be right ahead, and Jason crawls over to the other side of the pallet before turning on his spectral scanner again to check. He frowns when he doesn’t see him, registering only several of the other False Facers moving around.

“Where’d you go, asshole?” Jason mutters to himself as he keeps searching.

He should’ve seen it coming, really, considering how bad his day’s been going. 

But considering how bad it’s been, it’s probably also the reason why Jason doesn’t think to check behind him, and why he doesn’t realize that Angel’s grabbing his ankles and dragging him roughly from under the pallet, and flipping him over until Jason’s blinking dumbly up at Angel’s garish, white skull mask.

“Boo,” he says, and Jason’s shocked by fifteen thousand volts of electricity for ten seconds before he loses consciousness.

\---

Jaosn’s head is throbbing when he comes to, like someone’s been pounding away at it non-stop for the past several hours.

The first thing he notices is that his mask is gone, although he can still feel his domino mask over his eyes. 

The second thing he notices is that he’s sitting down with his arms pulled behind him, his legs spread and his ankles strapped to each of the leg chairs as far as he can tell. His wrists have been tied to his elbows too, leaving little to no room for movement.

Jason tries not to panic, although that’s exactly what his brain immediately wants to do. He forces his breathing to remain slow and calm instead, and strains to hear if there’s anything or anyone else nearby.

“I know you’re awake, Hood.” Angel.

From the sound of his voice, he’s taken off his mask, which Jason can only assume must mean that they’ve taken him back to one of their hideouts. He’s not sure _ why _ they’ve taken him, and he’s not sure he likes any of the possible reasons that come to mind.

Jason considers continuing to pretend that he’s still unconscious, if only to irritate the other man, but something presses against his left thigh as he’s thinking, and something like fire burns through him and sears every nerve in his body.

Jason shouts before he can stop himself, his head shooting straight up as his whole body jerks against his restraints. The taser is withdrawn then, but the pain lingers and Jason breathes heavily as he rides through it.

Angel is sitting cross-legged on a chair directly in front of him, an inch of distance between them. His blue eyes are idly studying the taser he’s holding in one hand, an unspoken threat if Jason doesn’t cooperate.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re an asshole?” Jason says, panting slightly.

Angel smiles, dropping his hand into his lap as he looks at Jason.

Jason hasn’t seen his face in almost two years now. He knows Angel, has always known who he is, but it’s still jarring to see that face again after all this time.

(It’s only been two years, but it feels like a lifetime ago.)

He looks older, but not by much. He’s still pretty in that ridiculously boyish way, still has those soft-looking lips and the elegant arch of carefully-waxed brows. The laugh lines from the old days are virtually nonexistent now, but Jason thinks he can still see the ghost of his dimples on his cheeks

(and absently aches to see them again).

He looks the same, to be honest, like he hasn’t changed one bit, except- 

Actually, he’s got a tiny, almost unnoticeable scar under his left eye that Jason’s sure hadn’t been there before, and Jason catches himself before he openly frowns.

If there’s one thing Jason knows about Roman Sionis, it’s that he doesn’t damage his property, and especially the ones he’s particularly fond of; like Angel. Either Angel had done something to _ really _ piss off Roman, or someone had been _ trying _ to piss off Roman and had managed to hurt Angel.

An old sense of protective resentment flares in Jason’s gut at the thought, sharp amidst the pain from the earlier tasing, and he stomps down on it firmly, pushing it to the back of his mind.

“Yes, I think _ you _ did,” Angel says. “Several times.”

“Maybe that’s a sign you should start re-evaluating your life choices then.”

Jason tenses up when Angel raises the taser again, and he regrets it immediately when the reaction brings another smile to the man’s face.

“See, Hood, I _ know _ you’re smarter than you look,” he says, lowering his hand back onto his lap.

“Can’t say the feeling’s mutual.”

Angel shoots him a _ look _ for the interruption, to which Jason shrugs helplessly. He’d like to say sorry to avoid getting tased again, but why lie?

“You’re going to be staying here for a while, Hood,” Angel says slowly, warningly. “And unlike my father, I can be _ kind. _But how I treat you depends solely on how cooperative you are. If you give me a couple of answers today, I’ll let you out of the ropes. Keep being difficult, and the ropes stay on until next week. Is that clear?”

“You know I love it when you get bossy, Angel.”

Angel glares at him. “Sometimes I wonder if you’re a masochist.”

Jason shrugs again with a grin. “Takes one to know one.”

Angel narrows his eyes at him, critical and considering. After a moment, he leans back in his seat with a cold smile.

“My father doesn’t care who’s under that mask,” he says, the kindness of his tone belying the darkness in his blue eyes. “A bat’s a bat, and the only good bat is a dead one in this city. But I wonder if you feel the same. Tell me, Hood. How cocky would you still be if I took away that anonymity?”

For the first time since waking up, Jason _ does _feel panic then. Full-blown, heart-racing, pulse-pumping panic.

He doesn’t really care about his identity going public, not really. Bruce will figure out a way to fix that mess. He’s got contingency plans for his own contingency plans after all.

But he can’t let _ Angel _ know who he is. It would- Jason’s spent years staying away from him, years bottling up his feelings for the other man because of this.

If Angel knows Jason Todd is Red Hood, it would _ break _ him.

(It would break them both.)

“Nobody likes spoilers, Angel,” Jason tries to joke, tries not to show how much he hopes Angel won’t make good on his threat. “You really wanna be _ that _ guy?”

“I’m _ always _that guy.”

Angel stands abruptly, and Jason tenses up, leaning back in his chair when Angel moves closer to him. The look on his face tells Jason he’s not kidding, that he’s seriously considering taking off Jason’s domino mask, and Jason feels cold sweat break out on the back of his neck.

“Come on, Angel,” he says, licking his dry lips, watching Angel’s hands warily. “I’m warning you, I’m an ugly motherfucker. You won’t like me so much without the mask on.”

Angel chuckles, hunching down until they’re eye-level. “Who says I like you at all, baby bat?” he murmurs, and then he’s grabbing Jason’s jaw, holding Jason still while he reaches up with his other hand, the one with the taser.

He stuns Jason first, right on the fucking cheek. 

Jason grunts with the pain, his eyes squeezing shut against it, and despite its briefness, the location is a soft spot of tender skin, and the pain lingers long enough that he can’t even move when Angel lets go of him.

Half his face feels numb, and he doesn’t so much as feel as he just simply expects Angel to grab the corner of his domino and pull it off of him unceremoniously.

Jason’s eyes are still closed and he hates that he’s too much of a coward to open them and see the look on Angel’s face. But he can’t deafen his own ears to the terrible sound of Angel’s quiet, disbelieving voice saying his name.

“... _ Jason_…?”


	2. Chapter 2

Dick’s been majorly fucked over only three times in the last twenty years of his miserable existence.

Or rather, his whole life has been nothing but a rollercoaster ride of who or what’s going to fuck him over today, tomorrow, next week, next month; the sharp turns that hurt to the bone, the whirling corkscrews that leave him sick and nauseous. 

Dick had once been a naïve little circus boy whose best friends had been a bearded lady and an elephant that could paint the Mona Lisa, until his world had come crashing down around his ears and he’d met a monster under the guise of Roman Sionis.

Everything’s been an unpleasant mess of _ what’s going to happen to me now _ ever since - ever since he’d watched his parents fall to their deaths in an act they should’ve been able to perform in their fucking dreams - and Dick’s gotten so used to all the terrible things that keep happening to him afterwards that most of it doesn’t really register much anymore. 

(Most days, Dick feels _ nothing _ and he’s resigned himself to feeling nothing all the way to the grave.)

No, Dick keeps milestones of how _ badly _ he’s getting wrecked by fate in relation to every other sick thing that happens to him based on how much they _ hurt, _ and so far, only three things have _ cripplingly _hurt him.

In stark contrast, good things come to him far and few in between - rare enough that he can count them on one hand - and up until today, Dick had thought Jason Peter Todd had been one of those good things.

Jason had been- he’d been a_ god-send._ He’d been kind when Dick had needed kindness, loving when Dick had only hate in his rotting, black heart. For years, Jason had been the only thing that had gotten Dick out of bed every morning, and the only reason Dick had ever, _ ever _ seriously tried leaving Roman’s clutches for.

(It hadn’t worked out too well, obviously. Roman had taught him a lesson for that, and Dick’s got more scars than just the measly one under his eye.)

And now-

Dick laughs. He can’t help it.

It just figures that the one good thing he’s cherished the most turns out to be a fucking_ lie. _

He feels stupid. He feels used. He feels betrayed.

(He’s heartbroken but then he’d have to have a heart to break in the first place, doesn’t he?)

“It’s not what you think,” Jason says breathlessly. “Dickie, please.”

“_Don’t fucking call me that_!”

“This isn’t what it looks like, you have to believe me.”

Dick drops the taser because he needs both his hands to wrap them around the neck of Jason _fucking _Todd - Red Hood, he’s _Red Hood_, he’s been lying to him all this time, all these years, the fucking _punishments _Dick’s had to endure because of their relationship, for loving someone Roman _hated, _all for _fucking what_ \- and wring it for all it’s worth.

“Dick!” Jason chokes, but he doesn’t even struggle, his eyes snapping open and staring widely up into Dick’s.

“Was it fun?” Dick asks him, and he knows his voice is too high, too loud, bordering on the edge of hysterical. But he can’t bring himself to care. “Did you and Bats have a good old laugh about it behind my fucking back? All these years, all that time when you- _ do you have any fucking idea what my father’s done to me because of you_?!”

Jason’s eyes are watering, shining in the dim light of the room. “I- I’m sorry,” he garbles out. “Dick- guh-”

Dick can kill him right now. He can break Jason’s neck easily, or twist it just right until his arteries pop and he suffocates on his own blood. Death would be a mercy for him, compared to what Roman will do when he finds out who Red Hood is.

Dick squeezes harder, and Jason makes a noise of pain and desperation, but still he doesn’t struggle. His eyes have rolled up to the back of his head, and his mouth’s dropped open with his tongue lolling out the corner of it like a fat, limp worm.

And his face is wet.

There are huge, fat dollops of tears on his cheeks, on his nose, dripping down into his mouth and onto his stupidly perfect teeth, and none of it is _ his. _

Dick sobs violently before he lets go of Jason.

Jason immediately coughs, wheezing and gasping for air, hunching forward onto himself. Dick drops to the ground by Jason’s knees, burying his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking with the force of his own tears.

“I loved you,” he sobs. “Fuck, _ fuck _ \- I fucking _ loved _ you, you bastard…”

He hasn’t cried since he was eighteen, since Roman had discovered his _ dalliances _ with Bruce Wayne’s goddamn son, since- since Dick’s nonexistent heart had been broken the first goddamn time.

He can’t believe he’s crying _ now, _ and he hates that he _ still _ can feel _ so much _ despite the years that have passed since he’d been forced to stop thinking of the boy he’d loved.

(Still loves.)

“Dick,” Jason says.

He sounds awful and pained, his voice scratched up to hell thanks to Dick. Dick wants to tell him to shut the fuck up, tell him he doesn’t fucking want to hear his voice, _ never again, _but all that comes out is another pathetic sob.

_ You’re nothing but a weak little faggot, boy. _

Roman’s going to kill him. He’s going to torture Jason to an inch of his life, make him _ beg _ for death before granting him the mercy, and even then, he’d drag it out for as long as he can, for as long as Jason’s body can take.

Dick knows this for a fact. He’s seen Roman do it to lesser men, to people who mean _ nothing _to him.

Roman hates Jason with a passion, and when he finds out he’s the Red Hood too-

_ I love him daddy, I’m sorry, I’m sorry- _

Dick swallows down the rest of his sobs, squeezes his eyes shut against the tears. He breathes in, long and deep, and holds it, reaches inside himself for the emptiness that Roman had put in there.

(Dick had once been a naïve little circus boy whose best friends had been a bearded lady and an elephant that could paint the Mona Lisa, until-

that little boy had grown up to become a heartless monster.)

It works.

After a moment, he wipes his face dry with the sleeve of his jacket, and straightens up. Jason’s watching him warily, his neck a mess of finger-shaped bruises, his face paler than the bilious white of the paint on Dick’s mask.

Jason tenses up when Dick pulls his knife from its sheath under his jacket.

It’s sharp, and it’s never missed its mark. Dick’s proud of it. He can’t stomach the thought of taking a life with a bullet, but knives are circus chattel, just like him. They’ve always come easier to him.

“No, wait, you don’t have to-” Jason protests hoarsely when Dick leans over him, but Dick ignores him, cutting through the ropes keeping Jason’s arms restrained to the chair. “...do this?”

Dick tears the rope off and bends down to do the same to the ones around Jason’s legs, and when he’s done, he grabs his discarded taser and re-sheathes his knife. He moves back to his own empty chair and picks up the mask hanging on its back, pulling it on securely.

“Roman will be here in twenty minutes,” he says before turning around to face Jason. Somehow, it feels so much easier to ignore the pain as he stares at the man through the mask. “Knock me out and make it look believable.”

Jason stands on unsteady legs, still affected by the amount of time he’s spent tied in one place and all the tasing Dick had subjected him to. He gapes at Dick’s order, or maybe at the whole situation in general.

Dick almost thinks he can’t blame him, but then the vicious voices in his mind hisses, _ of course you can, it’s _ all _ his fault. _

“Hurry up,” Dick barks when Jason doesn’t move.

“I can’t-” Jason stammers, a conflicted expression contorting his features. “Why are you helping me?”

“Do you _ want _ to fucking die?”

Jason clenches his jaw at the rhetorical question, but now he looks even more determined to not fucking listen to Dick.

“He’ll kill _ you _ when he finds out what you did,” he says, and suddenly he’s standing straighter, stronger, not a trace of any of the weakness from a moment ago. “Come with me.”

Dick’s speechless at the ridiculous suggestion, but he can tell Jason’s serious about it. _ Hasn’t he been fucking listening, _the voices ask incredulously.

“Are you _ demented_?” Dick laughs, angry and bitter. “Did I shock you too much with the taser that you forget who fucking owns me?”

Jason ignores the jab, tilting his head thoughtfully. “How much do you weigh?” he asks.

Dick stops laughing at the unexpected question. “What?”

“Weight. You don’t look anything over 175. How off am I?”

“179, why does it _ matter_?”

Jason nods, ignoring Dick’s question, and looks around the room. There’s a corner half-hidden in the shadows where a table is, where his gear had been tossed as they’d stripped him.

“Don’t worry, I don’t think you’re fat or anything,” Jason says, making his way over to the table. “Also, don’t think I didn’t notice that wasn’t a no.”

Dick can’t do anything but watch as Jason fastens his holster back around his hips, slips his arms through his jacket and pulls his gloves over his hands before stretching with a soft, happy little sigh like he’s got all the time in the fucking world.

“You need to get the fuck out of here before Roman comes,” Dick hisses, striding over to the asshole. “Are you listening to me? He’s going to fucking _ kill _ you-”

He stops short when Jason draws one of his guns and aims it at Dick’s heart, and Dick stares at the barrel of it because there’s not much else he _ can _ do.

He’s so stupid, wanting to save this fucker’s life, letting his stupid feelings get the best of him- Roman’s _ right, _ he _ is _ a weak little faggot, and now he’s going to die because of it.

He has a split moment to close his eyes and feel hurt again, to wish he’d never even fucking met Jason fucking Todd, before Jason pulls the trigger.

“You broke my heart too, you know,” is the last thing he hears before there’s a stinging pain in his chest and everything goes black.


	3. Chapter 3

Alfred’s unsurprisingly helpful when Jason comes crawling back to the Batcave with the unconscious body of Roman Sionis’s only son draped over his back.

He immediately expresses disapproval over _ how _ it had happened, of course, but he also willingly volunteers to help set Dick up in one of the guest rooms to make sure he won’t be able to run if he wakes up alone. 

More importantly, Alfred helps change Dick out of his distinctive suit and mask and cleans him up before pulling on more comfortable pajamas on him, which Jason is unashamed to admit that he might not have been so professional about if he’d had to do it himself.

He’s not a fucking _ saint _ after all, and he’s held a torch for Dick for years. He’s only human.

Tim’s a lot more wary of the situation, compared to Alfred, but Jason could’ve seen that coming from miles away.

“Bruce is going to blow a fuse,” Tim says when Jason finally comes up from the Batcave after his mission report is done.

He’s sitting in the kitchen, drinking coffee - with what looks like _ cereal? _ Or _ something, _floating in the black liquid - his eyes scanning through reports on his tablet. His left leg’s in a cast, elevated on the stool beside him.

“He warned you about Roman’s son,” he continues before taking a sip of his drink.

Jason takes a seat next to him at the counter and drops his head down onto the cool surface, sighing. Now that they’re out of any immediate danger, the adrenaline’s worn off and he feels twenty years too tired.

Not to mention the sweat and grime still clinging to his skin. He must smell like horse shit and he knows he should be showering and tucking himself to sleep right now, but he doesn’t feel like he can sleep anyway, despite how _ exhausted _he is. He’d barely had enough energy to change into a t-shirt and sweatpants as it is.

“Look, I love watching you wallow in misery as much as the next guy, but you’re insufferable when you’re all mopey,” Tim says, placing his cup on the counter with a quiet clink of the ceramic. “So for my own sake, I’ll tell you that I’ve got it on good authority he’s at least never killed anyone to date.”

Jason turns his face so that his cheek’s squished against the marble top, and looks up at Tim hopefully. “Really?”

Tim grimaces at his expression, clearly disgusted with how pathetic Jason is behaving.

“Yes,” he deadpans. “There’s a reason Black Mask kept his involvement in the business at the minimum before. Every mobster and their mom thinks Grayson’s too soft, but they’re too afraid of the boss to say anything to his face.”

Jason sighs with relief. It’s not like he doesn’t know that; everyone in the criminal underground is afraid of Dick, but only because of his father and his sadistic reputation. 

(Although even fear hasn’t stopped the rumours of Dick being far too lenient in the business from spreading like wildfire.

It especially doesn’t help that when Dick had first started appearing in public as White Mask_ , _he’d had countless opportunities to kill Batman, to kill Red Hood, but he’d never crossed that line. If it had been Roman in his place during those times instead, Bruce and Jason would probably be long dead by now. 

But it had always only ever been Dick that was smart enough to corner either of them, and he’d never taken the figurative killshot, not once.)

Jason just feels better knowing facts instead of relying on what he’s heard from the grapevine - relying on his own feelings for Dick - and who else has more reliable intel than Tim? 

(Jason’s always believed that there’s still good in Dick, a sliver of that little boy left inside when Roman had all but crushed him to pieces and moulded Dick into something more his own liking. It’s one of the reasons Jason had fallen in love with him in the first place.

The fact that despite his circumstances and Roman’s control over him, when given the choice, Dick would always do the right thing; or risk his father’s wrath trying to.

Even earlier, when he could’ve killed Jason - _ would’ve _ killed him, _ should’ve _ killed him - he _ hadn’t. _

He’d tried to let Jason go.)

And yet-

“Bruce would still send him to Blackgate,” Jason murmurs tiredly, his eyes falling shut. “And Roman would get him out and then he’d be with him again and I can’t- Tim, I can’t do that to him. Not again.”

Tim doesn’t say anything immediately, and the silence that settles between them feels like an omen of troubles to come.

Jason will have to convince Bruce to allow Dick to stay, but beyond that- he hadn’t really thought that far, to be honest. Even if - and that’s a _ huge _if - Bruce agrees to it, what then? 

Roman would never let Dick go, not quietly, and nothing short of Dick’s death will stop him from coming after whoever he thinks is responsible for Dick’s disappearance.

And even then, what’s Jason going to do with Dick? It’s not realistic to expect the other man to stay in the manor for the rest of his life, and who’s to say Dick even _ wants _ to stay here? But it’s not like Dick can just walk around in public and not expect Roman to come for him.

Dick might legally be an adult and Roman shouldn’t have any more power over him, but since when has Roman ever done anything legally anyway?

_ Fuck, _ there’s just so many things to consider, so many problems he’ll have to deal with. All he’d wanted was to get Dick away from his psycho dad, to do what he should’ve done in the first place two years ago. 

They should’ve run together like they’d planned all along, back when they’d still had the chance.

(Jason should’ve stormed Sionis’s penthouse for Dick that night, even despite the text he’d sent, warning Jason to stay away from him.)

“For what it’s worth,_ I _ think he’s okay,” Tim says, pulling Jason out of his thoughts.

Jason peels his eyes open and squints up at Tim suspiciously. “You’re lying to make me feel better,” he accuses.

Tim rolls his eyes. “I met him before he was adopted by Black Mask,” he says quietly. “I was there the night his parents fell. I was scared of the circus because I’d never been to one before and he made me feel better about it.” 

He pauses and glances away from his tablet, over to Jason. “He was nine years old. If he could be kind to a complete stranger at that age, I’m sure there’s enough good in him to survive even Black Mask’s influence.”

Nine years old. Jason had forgotten that’s how old Dick had been when Roman had adopted him. It sounds daunting, the number of years Dick’s been with a sadist like Roman Sionis, but Jason hopes, at least for Dick’s sake, that Tim is right.

There’s a loud thud coming from upstairs then, like the sound of something huge falling over, and the two of them tense up, Jason straightening from the counter as his looks up at the ceiling. The thud comes again, this time a little louder, and then Alfred’s strolling casually into the kitchen and over to the fridge.

“I believe our guest is awake, sirs,” he says without looking at them.

“Shit,” Jason mutters, slumping over the counter again.

“He sounds mad,” Tim observes unhelpfully, picking up his cup and taking a sip of his coffee just as another thud resounds. “You better get on that before he brings the whole second floor down.”

“We still have the third and the fourth anyway,” Jason says, but he’s already sliding off his stool and over to the doorway.

“I will bring breakfast up for you two shortly, Master Jason.”

“Thanks, Alfred.”

The journey up to the guest room they’d put Dick in feels like a walk down to his own execution. Jason drags his feet as much as he can, although he knows he has to deal with this sooner or later, and the longer he stalls, the angrier Dick will probably be.

It’s not until he’s standing in front of the door that he realizes the thudding had stopped, and he feels even more wary as he stares at it, his hand hovering over the door knob with hesitation.

“I know you’re fucking out there,” he hears Dick’s muffled voice growling through the wood. “I’m going to kill you, Jason Todd, but by all means. _ Take your fucking time._”

Jason swallows the lump in his throat, stepping back from the door. “I don’t want to fight you, Dick.”

“Well, too fucking bad because _ I _do.”

Even through the wood, he sounds _ pissed, _ and Jason winces at the tone. “Fine,” he relents. “But before you do anything you’ll regret, I just want to remind you that _ you _started this.”

The door shudders when something crashes against it on the other side, most likely a foot or a fist. Jason hopes it’s the former, because he knows from experience that punching the reinforced wood of any door in the manor hurts like a motherfucker.

“_I didn’t ask you to take me with you_!” Dick screams. “Do you have any fucking idea what Roman’s going to do when he finds out what you did?!”

Jason frowns at the mention of Black Mask, feeling angry now too. “I’m not scared of _ daddy, _” he grits out.

“That’s because he’s not _ your _ daddy!” Something cracks in Dick’s voice then, and Jason clenches his jaw guiltily, wishing he hadn’t said that. 

“I _ know _ him, Jason. I’ve- I’ve been there at his worst. If you let me go now, I can- I’ll try to convince him you were just using me as a hostage to get away. He doesn’t have to know what really happened. No one does. You’re good at keeping secrets, aren’t you?”

That last part is said so bitterly that Jason can taste it on his own tongue, and that’s what makes him surge forward and finally pull the door open.

Dick’s on his knees a few feet behind it, looking up at Jason with surprise, like he hadn’t expected him to actually come in, and Jason shuts the door before Dick can attempt to make a run for it.

“I never lied to you,” Jason says, leaning his back against the door.

He wants to move closer to Dick, wants to wrap his arms around him and hold him like he used to, seemingly forever ago. But Dick looks like a human-shaped ball of tension, a wound-up spring ready to pop off at the slightest touch, and Jason _ really _doesn’t want to fight him.

“No, you just conveniently forgot to mention you were moonlighting as one of my father’s worst enemies for years,” Dick agrees, the look in his eyes as biting as his tone.

“I didn’t want to get you involved in this. In any of it. You have to believe me, Dick.”

Dick laughs, but it’s humourless and it hurts to listen to, coming from him. “And here I thought that was the whole point. Wasn’t it? Get close to Black Mask’s faggot son, wheedle information out of him. Get him hooked until it _ cripples _ him to lose you so that Black Mask spends two _ fucking _ years _ re-training _the bitch instead of expanding his criminal empire like he was planning to. Wasn’t that your big, grand scheme?”

Jason stares down at Dick, feeling like cold water had been doused over his head. 

He hadn’t- Dick makes it sound so much worse than what had actually been between them, but- the truth is, Jason _ doesn’t _ know what had happened to Dick when he’d disappeared. He doesn’t have a clue, and Jason had been too busy nursing his own broken heart to look for Dick.

It’s not beyond the realm of possibilities that Black Mask had been largely inactive for the past two years because he’d been brainwashing his son, like Dick is implying. After all, hadn’t he come back with White Mask as a more constant fixture by his side, at the same time Richard Sionis had made a sudden reappearance in the public eye?

Jason feels sick and angry for not considering it earlier.

(He feels selfish and guilty for thinking Dick had only ghosted because he’d been trying to get over Jason.)

“Is that what he did?” Jason finds himself asking, his own voice hollow and devoid of emotion, even though inside, he’s _ pulsing _ with fury. “_Re-train _ you?”

Dick smiles sharply at the question, straightening to his feet. “You sound upset, Jay,” he cooes, and Jason flinches away at the old nickname, at the way Dick says it with cold detachment. 

Like it doesn’t _ mean _anything to him.

“Don’t worry, daddy just wanted what’s best for his little angel,” Dick continues, clasping his hands behind his back and batting his lashes at Jason. “After all, no one loves me like daddy does.”

“Stop it.” Jason’s response is more of a plea than the order that it is, because Jason knows where Dick’s going with this. 

He’s heard _ those _ rumours too. He’d always thought it was all just bullshit, that there’s no possible way Roman would _ actually _ touch Dick like that, and he’s just _ trying _to make Jason angry by saying these things. Roman loves him like a son, not a-

“He asked me how you fucked me,” Dick says, licking his lips, darkened eyes still boring into Jason’s. “How good it was with you. How much better _ he _ was compared to your tiny little baby cock-”

“_Shut up._” 

Jason snarls, surging forward, one hand already reaching out to grab Dick. He manages to stop himself halfway, and he grinds his teeth, forcing himself to calm down. But Dick moves closer to him, his hands curling around Jason’s wrist and pulling his hand up, resting it against Dick’s own neck.

“Hurt me, Jay,” he says softly. “I know you want to. Everyone does. Daddy says pain makes me look pretty. You think I’m pretty too, don’t you, Jason?”

Jason wraps his fingers loosely around the slender column of Dick’s throat. He looks _ delicate _ in Jason’s grip, fragile and breakable, and Jason hates that he understands exactly what Dick means, hates that a part of him _ wants _to wreck Dick and make him writhe under him while Jason paints his skin with bites and bruises.

He _ hates _ that Dick knows that too.

Jason tightens his fingers around Dick’s throat, and Dick’s eyes flutter closed, a soft, pleased sigh escaping his lips as he subtly leans closer to Jason.

It’s wrong, it’s so fucked up that Dick thinks _ this _ is soothing, but that’s what snaps Jason back to his senses. He pulls away abruptly, his withdrawal so sudden that Dick actually stumbles in surprise, and Jason marches back out the door like a man possessed.


	4. Chapter 4

Alfred brings him a tray of pancakes and orange juice not five minutes after Jason had left, and Dick’s still too shocked over what he’d done to Jason to even try and escape past the old man.

He sits in a corner between the wall and the bed and folds his knees up to his chest and buries his face against them. The position makes it a little harder to breathe, but that’s what calms him down; the struggle.

One of Roman’s favourite punishments had been to choke Dick until his vision would blacken around the edges, until his body would fight and flail for life despite his fear of his daddy’s anger. Roman would only stop when Dick’s body would finally give out, just on the verge of passing out, and then he’d flip him over and-

Despite the fear, Dick’s found comfort in the pain. Because every time afterwards, Roman would treat him like glass.

He would be gentler, he would be more affectionate, he would be _ proud _ of how Dick behaves perfectly to avoid another session in the Black Room.

(And he’d been especially pleased of how Dick would sometimes rebel on purpose because he’d _ craved _ the tenderness of Roman’s post-punishment attentions.)

It’s fucked up, _ he’s _ fucked up, but it doesn’t really matter. Because there had been nothing he could do to stop Roman no matter how many times he’d tried, how many times he’d fought and run, and Dick’s not- he’d rather be _ alive _ than whole.

He’s just surprised he doesn’t have any permanent brain damage in spite of it all.

_ Or maybe we do, _ the voices say, giggling hysterically. Or maybe the giggling is coming from him, he’s not even sure. Aren’t the voices coming from inside him too? _ Maybe we’re crazy and that’s why we still love him. It’s crazy to love someone that hurts us, isn’t it? _

“I don’t love him,” Dick mutters to himself, wrapping his arms over his head, staring blindly down at his thighs, at the pale lavender of the pajama pants someone had changed him into. “I hate him, I hate them all.”

He repeats the words like they’ll come true if he says them enough times.

(Spoiler alert; it doesn’t work. He’s tried it before.)

\---

Jason’s destroyed twenty practice dummies in the cave by the time Bruce comes back sometime after lunch.

He’s _ still _ angry, _ still _ agitated and helpless to do anything as Dick’s words run over and over in his head like a broken record. He hasn’t been able to stop thinking about what Dick had told him, about what Roman’s done to him, and even though Jason still hasn’t slept either, he doesn’t feel tired anymore.

He wants to get back into his Red Hood suit and hunt Roman down like the fucking animal that he is.

“Are you going to explain why Richard Sionis is in the east wing’s guest room?”

Jason throws the dummy he’s currently pummeling into the ground across the cave with a loud grunt, throwing an explosive Batarang at it just for good measure. There’s little satisfaction in watching it explode mid-air, but imagining it as Roman helps. Just a little.

Bruce is still dressed in the Batsuit when Jason turns around to face him, having only pulled off his cowl. He looks as tired as Jason had felt earlier this morning, but Jason feels no sympathy for him.

Bruce is responsible for this too.

“Did you know?” Jason doesn’t bother with details because this is _ Bruce _ and Bruce _ always _ knows. Jason wouldn’t be surprised if he’d known all along.

To his credit, Bruce doesn’t even flinch, or feign ignorance. In the Bat’s voice, he replies, “I can’t help people who won’t help themselves, Jason. He chose to follow in his father’s footsteps-”

“_Bullshit. _ He was being _ abused, _ Bruce! Did you know what Roman was _ doing _ to him? Did you have _ any _ idea?”

Bruce’s expression doesn’t change even a little, and Jason feels his anger flare dangerously at the lack of reaction.

“I had my suspicions,” Bruce says. “Roman Sionis is a notable sadist. But Richard never reached out for help when he could have contacted child services and once he reached adulthood, he had the choice to leave.”

Bruce makes it sound so fucking _ easy, _ and it sickens Jason that it’s obvious Bruce is buying his own crap. They both know what kind of man Roman is; how can Bruce even _ think _ that Dick could’ve escaped him on his own?

“We both know nobody just _ leaves _Roman,” Jason snarls. “That’s why I tried to help him-!”

“And he threw that back in your face,” Bruce interrupts him sharply. His eyes narrow into a glare that matches Jason’s, dagger by accusatory dagger. “I expected better from you, Jason. Are you going to make that same mistake again?”

_ God, _ the condescending tone in Bruce’s voice is _ killing _ him. How _ dare _ he make it about that? It’s clear that he’s trying to manipulate Jason with his own feelings, and it’s _ infuriating _ that Bruce thinks _ Jason _ wouldn’t notice and know that.

That Jason would _ play along _ with him.

“You are the most massive piece of shit I’ve _ ever _ met,” Jason bites out, his fists twitching with the desire to just _ hit Bruce in his stupid face. _ Jason hasn’t felt _ this _ angry since-

(-since Dick had torn his heart out of his chest and stomped all over it until there’d been nothing left to keep Jason going-)

-since he’d been seventeen; since he’d been too young to understand that there are things you can’t change, no matter how much you _ want _ them to change, or how much you _ try _ to change them.

“He needs _ help, _ and you’re standing here, telling me it would be a mistake if I gave him that help? Is that what we do now? We abandon people who need saving?”

“He doesn’t need saving, Jason. He needs to pay for the crimes he’s committed-”

“Because of his _father_! Are you telling me that if I tell the whole world right now that I’m Red Hood, me getting arrested wouldn’t be _your_ fault? How is that any different than what Roman’s done to Dick? Why don’t you send _me _to fucking Blackgate too then, huh?!”

Bruce doesn’t answer him. He maintains the glare for a moment longer before he turns with a swish of his heavy cape, and strides towards the showers, dismissing the conversation without saying a word.

“Yeah, walk away!” Jason shouts after him, sneering with disdain. “That’s all you ever do, isn’t it? Just walk away from every fucking thing you can’t control like it doesn’t fucking exist!”

Bruce still doesn’t respond, and Jason glares at his back until he can’t see him anymore.

_ Fine_, he thinks viciously. _ Fuck him_.

If Bruce doesn’t want to help Dick, then _ fine. _ Jason’s got money stashed away from the past year of interning at WE, and it’s not like he doesn’t have friends in the hero community who would turn him away if he needs a place to crash.

He’ll take Dick and leave.

Leaving had been something he’d been sorely tempted to do plenty of times in the past anyway, given how Bruce seems to be getting _ more _ annoying the longer they’ve been working together. For all that Bruce says Jason’s one of the best he knows, somehow he’s _ still _ never careful enough, never focused enough, never _ obedient _ enough to follow Batman’s orders without question.

Bruce has Tim now. Jason pities the kid if he has to deal with their adoptive father’s idiosyncrasies on his own, but what’s a little brother for besides to be thrown under the bus for their older siblings?

It’s about time Red Hood found a city of his own to protect anyway.

(It’s about time he actually makes good on his promise and does something to protect the man he loves.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you kill me for that cliffhanger, there's going to be a continuation in another part! 🙈 Did I mention this series is actually kind of non-linear? No? Well, it is. I'M SORRY- *is shot*


End file.
